


knight/knyaight

by assortedwords



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Cat Puns, Fluff, Getting Together, Historical References, M/M, i also promised my beta i would tag this, or attempts at it, rated t for gawain's general existence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17797937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assortedwords/pseuds/assortedwords
Summary: Gawain: Haha, you're like my pet cat. Now that I think about it, you do resemble it a bit.Lancelot: Cat?- Knights of Round IV Ep 10Lancelot begs to differ.He'snot the one that acts like a cat.





	knight/knyaight

**Author's Note:**

> be warned for mentions of alcohol in the first scene! skip to "Lancelot’s mental list grows longer and longer every day" if you don't want to see it.

Lancelot doesn’t realize he’d said the thought out loud until he hears a snort. He whips around defensively, and sure enough Gwen is flitting around just behind him, the only bright spot in the dusk of the inn room. She settles on Lancelot’s knee, where he sits on the edge of his bed writing a letter home.  _ Go on, tell me more _ , she signs with a grin.

_ I wasn’t talking to  _ **_you_ ** _ , _ Lancelot signs back, scowling at her for emphasis. He goes on anyway, looking over his shoulder again to make sure Gawain hadn’t suddenly returned to their room.  _ But he really does act like a cat!  _ His gestures get more and more passionate as he tries to put his argument into words, hands fluttering impatiently. Gwen relocates to the windowsill for a steadier surface, the dim sunlight filtering in behind her. _ He’s strange, and proud, he does things as he pleases, he  _ **_tracks mud everywhere—_ **

“Lancelot?” Gawain calls, poking his head into the room. Lancelot puts his hands down as casually as he can. (Gwen bites down a laugh.) But it doesn’t seem necessary; Gawain steps in a tad unsteady by the sounds of it, his head likely too clouded to notice what Lancelot’s doing. Lancelot’s not surprised. There’s little to do in town but drink, and every day Lancelot can hear the lively roar of the tavern all the way in their room. Lancelot doesn’t go much. He prefers quieter places, the tranquil of the fairies’ forest still rooted deep in him. “Are you here?”

“Yes,” Lancelot calls back. The door opens fully and Gawain makes his way in, boots thankfully free of mud this time. He seems more tipsy than flat-out drunk, but then again, Gawain had always boasted a high tolerance.

“Oh, that’s good,” Gawain says, draping himself over Lancelot’s shoulders. His cheek presses solidly against Lancelot’s hair, his gaze flickering lazily over the letter in Lancelot’s lap. He doesn’t bother to linger. “Entertain me.”

_ “Excuse me,”  _ Lancelot says, but Gawain’s already moving onto his next target, squinting at something outside the window. He lifts his head abruptly, curious, and disappears before Lancelot can register, his shoulders suddenly light and cool.

“See?” Lancelot demands as soon as the door swings shut. Gwen just smiles.  
  


* * *

 

Lancelot’s mental list grows longer and longer every day. In truth, his experience with cats is limited to the big ones that wander into the forest at times, hardly anything to speak of. He supposes those and Gawain are of the same breed, with their wild eyes and sharp claws. Mostly, Lancelot just can’t quite associate Gawain with their domesticated counterparts.

_Definitely a wild cat,_ Lancelot decides when Gawain invites him to spar, bored of both the tavern and their threadbare room. They set off towards an empty piece of land just out of town, a place someone had told Gawain about.

“It’s not part of anyone’s farm, so we can be as serious as we like,” Gawain tells him as they put down their belongings in a pile, leaving only their weapons on hand. He lifts his axe but doesn’t draw it just yet, the steel blade pressed upside down against the grass. Tiny flames lick where Gawain’s gloves touch the handle. 

“I thought this was for practice,” Lancelot says. Well, as practice as it gets; Gawain had told him combat  _ à la plaisance _ called for blunt or modified weapons, but they only have real weapons on their travels.  _ Well, you’re not even a knight yet,  _ Gawain had said dismissively, waving his hand.  _ We can do it the proper way when you’re Sir Lancelot. _

Gawain rolls his eyes. He closes his fingers around the axe, and the flames evaporate. “No magic, then. No risk of scorching the grass, and I get a fair fight too.” He grins, his eyes glinting. “I want to see what you’re really made of, Lancelot.”

“Let’s start then,” Lancelot says. He sticks his hand out and they shake, beginning the match.

Gawain strikes first, unsurprisingly; he’d been excited ever since they planned this outing. Lancelot dodges his axe by a hair and charges in the next second, his heartbeat spiked with adrenaline.

“Oh, kitty has  _ claws _ ,” Gawain singsongs, sidestepping Lancelot’s sword as graceful as a waltz. But contrary to his nonchalance he tilts his body to shield his arm, already cautious. The haughty look on his face doesn’t change, though.

“What’s the matter?” Gawain says, watching Lancelot watch him. He moves faster than Lancelot expects, reappearing just in front of him, a finger tilting up Lancelot’s chin. Gawain smirks. “Cat got your tongue?”

Lancelot scowls and knocks his hand away, ducking to slash at his feet. Gawain stumbles backwards sharply, the heels of his boots sinking into the soil. “Are you sure I’m the one who acts like a cat?” Lancelot snaps before lunging again. Gawain meets him halfway, his axe pushing against Lancelot’s sword.

“Who’s the one hissing?” Gawain shoots back, grinning. He loosens his push and twirls away from Lancelot, pleased when Lancelot barely loses his balance, sword already aiming for him again. “Come get me, kitten!”

 

* * *

 

 

_ He’s light on his feet _ , Lancelot tells Gwen later that day, still looking to push his argument.  _ He taunts his opponents like a cat would a mouse. He lives like he’s got all nine of them.  _

_ I didn’t know you liked him so much,  _ Gwen says. She laughs when Lancelot flushes.  
  


* * *

 

There’s not much to do while travelling. They’re en route to the castle of Gawain’s king, but they have meals to eat before that, days to fill in, nights to sleep through. There are little demons to slay in this town, no royal orders to carry out, and so they fall into domesticity almost naturally, almost like fate intended it.

Neither of them is used to it; Gawain grew up a noble, and Lancelot—well, Lancelot grew up in a lake raised by fairies. The two of them meet in the middle. Lancelot teaches him how he lives in the forest; how to pick fresh fruit to eat, how to tread so lightly even the grass stays silent. And in return Gawain teaches Lancelot how to live amongst the townspeople, how to live as a knight. Lancelot takes to chivalry so naturally he steals Gawain’s spotlight, the milkmaids turning to flutter at his side instead. (He blinks at Gawain frantically for help, unused to the attention, but all Gawain does is laugh.)

Lancelot learns steadily enough, but some parts take time. It still feels odd sleeping on a mattress, so different from the grass of his forest. He shifts and wakes at the slightest noise no matter how he sleeps, and one night he opens his eyes to the soft sound of rustling. 

There's someone next to him, he realizes.

There’s only really one person it could be, but Lancelot still checks. It’s too dark to see colour, but Lancelot can figure out the familiar shape of his friend even so. He’s lying haphazardly in Lancelot's small bed, as if he'd just crawled in because he felt like it. (He probably did.) "Gawain?" he says, and shakes at him. Gawain stirs.

Gawain blinks at him slowly. "Mmrh?" 

"You have your own bed," Lancelot tells him, exasperated. This is divine punishment, isn’t it. Lancelot had spent all this time comparing Gawain to a cat and now here he is, sneaking into Lancelot’s bed like a spoiled kitten. He even  _ sleeps _ like a cat, on his side with one paw pillowing his head, his feet up and nose tucked in. “Why are you here?”

"This is more comfortable," Gawain mumbles, and has the audacity to curl up closer. "I got mud all over my sheets."

_ How does that even happen. _ Lancelot counts to ten, and exhales slowly. It’s too late to be irritated. "Did you clean off before you came in," he says, resigned.

Gawain sticks his foot against Lancelot's in reply. It feels fairly clean, so Lancelot lets it slide. Gawain sticks his foot further in, tangling their legs together, and tucks his head under Lancelot's chin.

Well.

That solves the problem of space, Lancelot supposes.

Lancelot must freeze up, because Gawain speaks again, his voice quiet from where his head is bowed. "Do you mind?"

Lancelot rests his cheek against Gawain's hair, and hopes the other can't hear the rapid pitter-patter starting up in his chest. "No," he says, his arms coming to circle around Gawain's waist. "Not at all."

It takes even longer for Lancelot to fall asleep. He lies awake for eons waiting for his heart to settle properly, but he wouldn’t trade this even for the Holy Grail.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Gawain is jittery with something, bouncing here and there with too much energy to be contained. Lancelot just sits by and watches him go. He's long given up trying to understand how Gawain thinks.

"Are you alright," Lancelot says evenly, after Gawain zooms from one corner of their room to another again.

“No,” Gawain says, pacing sullenly back to the corner he just left. He seems insistent on staying away from the corner where Lancelot is, which is new. Gawain always seemed to  _ prefer _ spaces where Lancelot was, forever draping himself over him or bugging him to go somewhere. Lancelot realizes with a jolt he misses the attention.

But chivalry is now part of the knights’ code Lancelot holds himself to, and it wouldn’t be fitting to whine. He schools his face back into a neutral expression. “What’s wrong then?” he asks, patient even if he does say so himself.

“It’s just—” Gawain says, and stops. Lancelot fancies he sees a tail swishing back and forth agitatedly. “What are we?”

Lancelot’s act shatters immediately. “What,” he manages, his heart in his throat. 

“You know what I mean,” Gawain says, his eyes narrowing. “I flirt with you ceaselessly, the milkmaids keep asking if we’re courting, we  _ slept in the same bed last night—”  _

_ “You were flirting with me?” _ Lancelot interrupts, the question ending in a squeak. To hell with his knights’ code. He had more pressing things to deal with right now. 

Gawain stares at him, and opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again, at a loss for words.  _ “I climbed into your bed last night,”  _ he says finally, incredulous.

_ “Don’t say it like that,” _ Lancelot says, mortified. Gawain laughs at the blush creeping onto his face.

“Well, anyway,” Gawain murmurs, finally coming closer. Too close. His glove brushes Lancelot’s cheek gently, and Lancelot feels his face grow hotter. “What am I to you, Lancelot?” 

Lancelot looks up at him as a million answers run through his mind.  _An_ _  unpredictable senior. A friend.  _ Gawain’s eyes hold his gaze steady, strong and certain as always. A flicker of worry passes through his expression. Lancelot doesn’t miss it.

_Who are you to me?_ Lancelot turns his face to kiss the leather of Gawain’s glove. _Someone I don’t want to leave alone. Someone I wish would rely on me more._ He watches Gawain crack, his eyes widen, his breath catch in his throat. “Someone I’d like to walk alongside for a long time,” Lancelot confesses, a million answers summed up in one.

 

* * *

 

Gawain turns into even more of a cat after that, if that were possible. He all but abandons his own bed, burrowing into Lancelot’s sheets every night and refusing to move. Lancelot grows used to it all—the mattress, the bed, the warmth of someone in his arms. Somewhere along the line, he looks down at the head pillowed on his lap and wonders when Gawain turned into a housecat. 

"Pay attention to me," Gawain demands, interrupting Lancelot’s internal monologue. He squints up from where he’s sprawled across Lancelot’s lap.

Well, maybe  _ sprawled _ is a little bit of an exaggeration. But the way he lays his head on Lancelot absolutely has the same flair, making sure Lancelot has no space to do anything  _ but _ look at him. Lancelot rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes," Lancelot says, sighing. He runs his fingers through Gawain’s hair even so.  "How do you want it?"

Gawain reaches for Lancelot's face in reply, fingers awkwardly pressed against his cheeks. Lancelot laughs. "If it's a kiss you want, you could just ask."

"That then," Gawain requests.

Lancelot bends to kiss him, and Gawain smiles against his lips. "One more," he says when Lancelot lifts his head.

"I don't think you're going to stop there," Lancelot murmurs, but he obliges anyway.

"You're right," Gawain says, sitting up, careful not to crash into Lancelot's head. His fingers steal into the spaces between Lancelot’s. He grins, all boyish charm and mischief, and Lancelot’s heart melts despite it all. "Kiss me again, Lancelot."

So Lancelot does, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://www.purina.co.uk/cat/proplan/content/images/global/health-nutrition/cat-care/wvd-150817-0465.jpg) is how gawain was sleeping, btw.
> 
> hi my name is archie and i am truly, genuinely, infuriatingly invested in a game inside of a game. izumi says lancelot and gawain "connect with one another while on their journey," so i chose to interpret that as "they get gay and kiss a lot."
> 
> not sure if anyone will notice, but there are references to the original arthurian legends! holy grail is the obvious one, and then there's lanwain being popular w the ladies, lancelot being Super Chivalrous, sir gawain being a hotshot noble from birth. (i took the liberty to make gawain a spoiled brat as a result i'm valid.) gwen and fairy sign language was just something i thought would be cool, given she doesn't talk in the play. there's a lot i could say about kniroun, but i don't want to clog up the author's notes too much haha.
> 
> beta'd by will, as usual. i posted their comments (& fic notes!) [here](https://twitter.com/KUROKElTOS/status/1099904730283761664), because furry roleplay lancelot & warrior cats fursona gawain are too good to keep to myself. (feel free to give me an RT too haha.) as always, thanks for reading! leave a kudo or comment if you so desire!


End file.
